


Symptoms to Ponder (The Old Complaint remix)

by donutsweeper



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Deductions, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: Despite Watson's claim he was not a case in need of solving, Holmes saw a riddle unfolding in front of him he felt he had to resolve.





	Symptoms to Ponder (The Old Complaint remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariadnes_string](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Old Complaint](https://archiveofourown.org/works/97203) by [ariadnes_string](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string/pseuds/ariadnes_string). 



Early in their acquaintance Watson had been in terrible health but a combination of time, Mrs Hudson's excellent cooking and fussing, and the sheer stubbornness of the man resulted in his regaining basic fitness and form fairly quickly. The limp, of course, would be with him for life - once damage had been done by a Jezail bullet it didn't just disappear, after all - but other than a minor, occasional reliance on a cane it didn't affect him overly much. In fact, Holmes often found it possible to forget that Watson had ever been poorly in the first place.

That was, until five or so months into their cohabitation when Holmes noticed something slightly… off, for want of a better description, about his fellow lodger one morning during breakfast. Watson's appetite was low; he was nibbling on a piece of toast rather than tucking into the meal in the manner Holmes had come to expect. His shoulders were also hunched and held five degrees higher than typical. Holmes also noted a paleness to his face and pinch to his eyes that were most likely signs of discomfort and pain. He considered saying something, but then Nanny brought the post which contained an interesting case that had him running to and fro all throughout London for the next few days and he put the incident out of his mind.

He recalled that morning, however, some time later when he wandered into the sitting room late one night to find the hearth, which would have usually been banked for the evening, still ablaze with Watson's chair pulled dangerously close to it. The man himself was seated in it, huddled under both his dressing gown and coat. Upon inspection Holmes saw he was pale and shivering, yet covering with a fine sheen of sweat.

"Watson, are you ill?"

"Brilliant deduction, Holmes," Watson quipped, but his reply lacked its usual vigor.

"You are feverish, that much is blindingly obvious, but I do not have enough data for a proper diagnosis. What are your other symptoms?" he asked as he reached out to see if there was an elevated heartbeat to go with the fever, only to have Watson flinch and shy away from his touch.

"Did you forget I am a doctor? I know what I am ill with, Holmes, it's an old complaint. I've even already taken the necessary medicine, all there is to do now is wait until the fever runs its course."

Noting a glass on the floor by Watson's feet, Holmes realized that it must have contained the aforementioned medicine so he retrieved it in order to inspect it properly. Once he had his prize he looked up to discover his actions has not gone unnoticed; despite Watson's condition he must have been clear headed enough to realize what Holmes was doing and raised an eyebrow in disapproval. Not that the minor chastisement halted his actions, being the detective he was, Holmes couldn't stop himself from examining the remains of its contents. 

The glass was empty save two drops of clearish liquid clinging to its sides. Aroma and taste yielded little in the way of clues as to what it might have contained. Watson's trusty bag was also nearby but had already been closed and, knowing the man's meticulous nature, would have been set to right immediately so it would be no help in determining to what drug had been taken from it earlier. He'd have to peruse it later to see if it contained anything out of the ordinary. Also hampering his ability to discern Watson's malady was that Holmes' knowledge of recurring illnesses and their treatment was lacking… assuming it was an illness? An 'old complaint' implied it was one that Watson had experienced before, that didn't necessarily mean an illness. It could be a— 

"I am not a case to be solved, Holmes."

"I was doing no such thing."

"Yes, you were." The tone wasn't accusatory, but rather accepting and almost fond, as if despite Watson's state he still found Holmes' insatiable curiosity a whimsical or quaint character trait rather than an invasion of privacy.

"Yes, I was," Holmes admitted since there was no point in denying it. After a moment of quiet observation he offered, "Is there anything I can do?"

"The fit will pass; I've done what can be done to speed it along," Watson said, gesturing with a tremulous hand to the glass Holmes was holding and then the fire.

"Well, yes, I see that," Holmes fiddled about with the glass for a moment before leaving it on the side table, grabbing the evening's paper from it and throwing himself into the chair across from Watson.

Instead of just sitting there and reading to himself, which would have felt awkward considering how uncomfortable and restless Watson seemed, Holmes began commenting and what he was reading as a way of passing the time and perhaps distracting the other man from his ills; first little asides about specific details (it was interesting to note that a certain Lord had taken a sudden, unexpected and unexplained trip to the subcontinent; the implications there were significant for his estate) and then actually reading the articles out loud. 

Eventually Watson seemed to drift off a little, although Holmes could tell the man wasn't completely asleep. Perhaps it was the medicine or the distraction he had provided, but whatever it was Holmes was glad to see it. The doctor's ill health had awakened an uneasiness within him, one Holmes would have to examine more closely at a later date.

They didn't talk of it the next day; Watson was still suffering from the aftereffects of whatever it was that had laid him low and Holmes was uncertain how to broach the subject in any way that would lead to an actual discussion rather than resulting in annoying Watson and him dismissing Holmes' inquiry out of hand. Holmes carefully noted all of Watson's symptoms though, filing them away to better his research into this recurring complaint of Watson's so he would be more prepared if, and when, it were to happen again.

The opportunity arose some months later, which suggested by extrapolating on the current data that Watson had recurrences two or three times a year. It was a Saturday and the weather frightful so they had both remained in the sitting room after their morning repast. Holmes had been occupying himself with writing up the results of some experiments (documentation was important if he wanted to accurately recreate them) when he noticed Watson displaying some elements of discomfort and he realized he had seen it before. 

"You are having another bout of that old complaint of yours, aren't you?" he asked, seeing little reason to beat about the bush.

Watson stiffened further, no doubt considering denying it despite irrefutable evidence to the contrary, before sighing in lieu of responding.

"If I am not mistaken this is its third appearance in our acquaintance, the other times being the morning I began the case of Victor Lynch, the forger, and that night I found you suffering from fever in front of the fire. Malaria, isn't it?"

Under other circumstances the look of surprise at a proper deduction would be offensive, but considering Watson's current state, Holmes chose not to comment on it. Instead he explained, "It was the obvious conclusion once I considered your time in India, your state upon returning and the fact you are careful to always carry quinine in your bag even though its has few medicinal uses outside of its treatment of malaria."

"Yes, given those clues it must have been terribly obvious." Watson's moustache twitched in what Holmes knew was amusement. "Of course you deduced it correctly."

"I assume you took your medication while I was fetching my files from my room?"

"How did you know? I was back in my chair by the time you returned and avoided stepping on the squeaky floorboard."

Holmes smirked. "Before sitting I observed that your bag was positioned at a seventy-eight degree angle, despite it being at an eighty-three angle earlier."

Watson blinked at that, his gaze shifting to the bag, clearly noting how it was under his desk and thus practically hidden from view. "No, you didn't."

"All right, I didn't. Knowing your medical skills, however, it was simple to deduce you would have ensured proper treatment for yourself and the only time you could have done so without being observed was when I left the room earlier." According to his research as well as his previous observation of Watson's bout with malaria, quinine only would do so much for the symptoms. "My investigation into the matter has not revealed much in the manner of treatment for the disease, so I'll have to rely on you to tell me what I can do."

Not surprisingly, Watson waved away his offer, instead settling close to the fire with an old copy of _The Lancet_ and proceeded to spend the next several hours attempting to hide, or perhaps ignore, his deteriorating health while Holmes did what he could do in terms of distraction, obfuscation and diversion as he took careful mental notes on how the condition progressed and what seemed to help or hinder its progression.

As the fever climbed it became obvious that Watson's clothes, especially the starched collar, began to bother him. His tremors became worse, although it was clear he was trying to hide their full effect on his body; he never had been one for allowing himself to show weakness, after all. Luckily, by the next day the fever had broken and Watson, although left weakened by the experience in the same way he had during its last occurrence, made no further mention of the illness. Holmes, following suit, did not bring it up either, limiting himself to recording his observations and doing further research into malaria and a fever's effect on the body.

As time, and their relationship, progressed Holmes was able to ascertain what helped Watson when the malaria made its inevitable recurrence and what did not. As he had noted, fever made Watson's skin more sensitive and Holmes soon learned that bullying Watson into bed was better than allowing him to stay by the fire since the softness of the linens and bedclothes were easier to abide than typical attire. It was hard, seeing Watson in pain but knowing his touch would only further his suffering. Once the fever broke, however, he could slide into bed next to him, finally able to pull him into his arms, having discovered that the shared body heat and slight upright angle helped with the lingering symptoms. 

And if he stayed there long past his recovery? 

Well, who was he to quibble over such minor details.


End file.
